


Subtle Inarizaki Crushes

by sifuhotman



Series: Subtle Inarizaki Things [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Inspired by the Facebook group "Subtle Asian Dating", M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman
Summary: In an attempt to help Atsumu get over his long suffering crush on Sakusa, Suna features Atsumu in the Facebook groupSubtle Inarizaki Dating. It comes with a boatload of problems, but the biggest one is that Sakusa doesn't seem to care at all.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: Subtle Inarizaki Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156646
Comments: 64
Kudos: 526
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	Subtle Inarizaki Crushes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to part two of Subtle Inarizaki Things.
> 
> It's not necessary to read the first part of this series to understand what's going on, but I'd recommend at least reading Suna's shitpost about Atsumu for context. You can find it in [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359089) or a Facebook post mock-up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ginjimahitoshi/status/1359964486942138370?s=20) if you prefer. Cheers!

It’s Suna, because of  _ course _ it’s Suna.

Atsumu momentarily loses all function in his brain. It doesn’t help that he’s hungover as hell and he’s already puked twice. If anything, it makes it even worse.

_ This is it, _ he thinks to himself.  _ This is where it ends. _

He’s known Suna for the past couple of years, and he’s always thought there’d be a day where Suna commits some heinous crime against him, whether legal or personal. This one is so personal that it should be illegal, and Atsumu can’t decide if he’s going to kill Suna or purchase a new identity and fly to another country.

It’s not fun being the buttend of the joke. But because of Suna, Atsumu isn’t just the buttend of the joke—he  _ is _ the joke.

> **❣️ INTRODUCING INARIZAKI’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR ❣️**

Atsumu sees the words  **monster cock** and  **dummy thicqq** and some of the worst photos of himself plastered in Subtle Inarizaki Dating, and he promptly decides that he’s disowning Suna starting today. If he weren’t so hungover, he’d probably be acting out right now, but he feels like he’s going to throw up again. Atsumu can’t tell if it’s because of the binge drinking last night or if it’s from being publicly flamed in a Facebook group containing tens of thousands of members, so all he can do is curl up on his bed and pray for the sweet release of death.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i am going to move to the usa
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> good riddance
> 
> drink water first

Truth be told, Atsumu knows he’s partially to blame for this. He shouldn’t have drank as much as he did last night, something he unfortunately—much like Suna’s commentary in the cursed SID post—says to himself quite frequently. As in, once every two weeks and sometimes even several days in a row. He’s a little irresponsible in that aspect. But surely that lack of responsibility shouldn’t bring him to  _ this _ .

But more importantly than the excessive drinking, he shouldn’t have spilled his relationship woes (or lack thereof) to none other than Suna Rintarou. Suna’s a good listener in that he’ll sit there silently when Atsumu bitches nonstop about anything and everything. But Suna’s a terrible listener in that he’ll take whatever Atsumu says and run batshit wild with it. He can’t be trusted, and Atsumu knows this, so why the hell did his drunk ass think it was a good idea to talk about it with  _ Suna _ of all people? 

Suna is something of a demon who has the current role of being Atsumu’s best friend, volleyball partner, and aggressive enabler. And Suna’s demonic characteristic shines brightly in the shitpost featured in Subtle Inarizaki Dating.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> DO YOU WANT TO DIE
> 
> DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Oops

He texts Suna to come over, then he texts his brother to bring him dinner because he’s dying and wants to have one last good meal. Atsumu then proceeds to pull the covers over his head in a meager attempt to block out the rest of the world. It’s one hell of a way to start his Saturday. Emphasis on hell.

* * *

Sunday is not much better, because Atsumu’s body still feels wrecked from copious amounts of alcohol and he barely slept on Saturday. Humiliation blooms like a thorn in his side and refuses to let go. To make things worse, it’s been a day of nonstop text messages from his friends and classmates, most of whom continue to make him suffer by sending screenshots of various comments about him. 

It’s been twenty-four hours of the expanding digitization of Atsumu’s reputation. He wishes that Suna’s post were completely false, but the fact that some of the points hold true (like his impulsivity and penchant for drinking too much) makes it Atsumu’s living nightmare. This is definitely not something Atsumu thought he’d ever have to deal with, at least in university, anyway.

It’s been a lot. Atsumu has had to shut off his notifications and force himself off all social media, at least until this blows over. Don’t get him wrong—he’d love to be a public figure. This just isn’t exactly what he had in mind. Osamu’s not pleased about it, either, and as sympathetic as Atsumu wants to be, he can’t be bothered to care too much when  _ he’s _ the one that was defamed, not his twin brother.

“How’s the monster dickhead doing?” Suna crouches beside Atsumu, who is currently doing half-hearted dynamic stretching to prepare for volleyball practice. Atsumu is alone in his stretching to sulk, because his teammates have nonstop roasted him for the stupid post. Sulking is impossible to do when Suna sticks his face right in front of Atsumu’s.

Atsumu shoves him away, and Suna stumbles backwards. “Fuck off, Suna.”

“You’re looking better than you did yesterday.”

Atsumu frowns. He hates that—of all people on their volleyball team—it’s  _ Suna _ he somehow wound up becoming friends with. Just his fucking luck. “I cannot believe you.”

“Dude, I already told you. Just get over it. It’s peak comedy.”

“Comedy for  _ you _ , maybe. I ain’t tossin’ for you anymore. Good luck getting any good shots.”

“You and I both know you wouldn’t sacrifice a game over a petty squabble.”

“You’re underestimatin’ how petty I am.” Atsumu flops backwards, back hitting the floor of the gym, and he groans. He’s gotten jackshit done all weekend for his classes, too, which would be okay if he weren’t already five lectures behind in econ. He’s going to get his ass kicked this week, and he can only hope that he’ll survive.

“You brought this on yourself, man.” Suna is not making things better. Suna’s making things worse, actually.

“I did  _ not _ bring—”

Suna cuts Atsumu off with a flat expression. Before he can say anything, though, his eyes drift up to find Sakusa Kiyoomi towering over them.

Atsumu’s first instinct is to look back at Suna with ‘ _ help me’ _ eyes, and Suna’s first instinct is to look at Atsumu with ‘ _ LOL fucker’ _ eyes.

“Miya.”

To his credit, Atsumu tries to act normal. “Mornin’, Omi Omi. You’re lookin’ bright and chipper today.”

Sakusa is the kind of person Atsumu can’t help but annoy. It’s Atsumu’s biggest flaw, aside from the aforementioned irresponsible binge drinking. Sakusa had been reserved when they first met, not offering much aside from blunt commentary that Atsumu never asked for. He still gives blunt commentary that Atsumu could probably do without, but once in a while, he’ll smile. A barely-there, ghost-of-a-smile, and it’s usually at the expense of one of their teammates. It’s often at the expense of Atsumu.

Whereas Atsumu constantly finds himself buried in shit that he inadvertently causes, Sakusa is picture perfect. Pristine. Untouchable. It’s almost infuriating. But also very sexy.

He’s also fucking weird, as Atsumu has come to learn, and strangely honest to the point that it’s annoying but also admirable. Sakusa is committed to doing everything with precision and accuracy, both on the court and in his classes, and he generally keeps to himself unless otherwise spoken to. Atsumu and Sakusa are begrudging partners, and as much as Atsumu doesn’t want to admit it, he likes tossing to Sakusa and seeing the receivers completely shank the ball right when they think they’ve got it. On the rare occasion Sakusa comes to hang out with the rest of the team, Atsumu gravitates towards him, and despite his facial and verbal expressions of disgust, Sakusa lets him. They’re friends. Kind of.

Sakusa is as much of an enigma as Suna, but in a completely different way. Half the time Atsumu isn’t sure if there’s anything going on in Sakusa’s head, especially when he spaces out and sits there silently. The other half of the time, Atsumu is sure he’s calculating how to minimize the amount of time he has to spend with the team outside of practice hours. But by far the most mysterious thing about Sakusa is how the fuck he’s able to latch onto Atsumu’s heart, resulting in feelings that are neither a. platonic, nor b. fun.

Atsumu fucking hates crushes.

“What the hell was that?” Sakusa asks without preamble. He doesn’t really believe in the whole small-talk,  _ ‘how was your day’ _ kind of bullshit, which Atsumu used to think was annoying but has long since gotten used to. Sakusa has his hands shoved in his pockets, track jacket zipped all the way up, chin tucked underneath the neck of his coat. He has a disastrously gorgeous face. It’s unfair.

“Huh? What the hell was what?”

“Whatever that thing was.” Sakusa’s nose scrunches. “In the dating group.”

Atsumu’s stomach drops. This sensation is one he supposes he’ll have to get used to as he goes back out into public. He can’t hide in his bedroom anymore, which is probably a good thing, since it’s starting to smell kind of rank. Furthermore, he can’t hide the fact that Sakusa saw it, too—Suna had sent Atsumu a screenshot of Sakusa’s comment.

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi** Ew.

The comment itself is no different from Sakusa’s usual comments directed towards Atsumu. It took a few weeks after they first met for Atsumu to realize that Sakusa’s bluntness wasn’t meant to be offensive. It’s matter-of-fact and direct. But it feels different when it’s in response to a dating profile. Like the idea of Atsumu as a dating partner is gross. 

So, yeah—not only is Atsumu suffering a tragic downfall from rising volleyball star to the latest pathetic meme, but he’s also being crushed by his crush. Moving out of the country continues to look more and more appealing.

“Don’t fuckin’ ask me, Omi-kun. Ask yer pain-in-the-ass middle blocker.”

Sakusa glances over at Suna. He doesn’t look upset or bothered, but he squints with the same incredible concentration he exerts while studying.

Suna shrugs. “Atsumu’s single and pathetic. I tried to make him seem more marketable to the eligible suitors on campus.”

Suna gives Atsumu a look. Atsumu’s irritation flares. Because not only is Suna the one who stirred up this shitstorm in the first place, he’s also forcing Atsumu to move on from his stupid pining crush on Sakusa by interacting with the people hitting on him in his direct messages.

Suna claims it’ll help him realize there are other people besides Sakusa. It’s a valid point. But Atsumu doesn’t  _ want _ anyone aside from Sakusa.

Atsumu hasn’t opened any of them yet. He’s a little afraid to. He doesn’t have the most experience with dating or courting or anything of that sort.

“Marketable? You call that flamin’ piece of shit advertisement  _ marketable _ ?”

“It was funny.” The corner of Suna’s lips quirk up. “Did you think it was funny, Sakusa?”

Sakusa tilts his head to the side. The skin near his two moles, right above his eyebrows, bunches ever so slightly. “Was it supposed to be funny?” he asks. “It looked like you were just making fun of him.”

“I was. But in a funny way.”

“It ain’t funny to me.”

“Tsumu, you’ll look back on it and laugh.”

“No way in fuck would I ever laugh over somethin’ so  _ rude _ .”

“I’ll fax you a copy that you can keep when you finally grow a sense of humor.”

“It was…” Sakusa’s voice falters, and both Suna and Atsumu turn towards him to listen.

“Hm?” Suna’s grin is as wicked as it is meddlesome. Atsumu wants to kick him in the shins.

Sakusa clears his throat and then shrugs. “It was very long.”

Atsumu frowns as Sakusa ambles over to Komori to begin doing some passing drills. He cannot for the life of him believe that he has a crush on  _ him. _

“There goes your unrequited love,” Suna says, and Atsumu jabs an elbow into Suna’s side. Suna yelps and says, “That hurt!” But Atsumu ignores him.

He can’t tell if he’s offended by Sakusa’s indifference or not. On one hand, any expressions of genuine disgust from Sakusa might very well cause Atsumu’s heart to stop from pain. On the other hand, a lack of interest  _ also _ may cause Atsumu’s heart to stop from pain. It’s a lose-lose situation.

So Atsumu—as stated multiple times by his brother and Suna—is a loser.

“He is so fuckin’ weird,” Atsumu mumbles.

“Yeah, but you like that he’s a weirdo.”

“The hell am I supposed to do now?” Atsumu falls into step beside Suna as they make their way towards the cart of volleyballs. He hopes that he can clear his head, at least a little, by practicing, and that he won’t end up so distracted that he’ll get concussed by accidentally taking a spike to the head. 

“Go talk to some people.” Suna picks up a ball from the cart and takes a few strides away. “Try not to scare them away with...you know.” He gives a few vague hand waves in Atsumu’s general direction, and Atsumu frowns, not entirely sure what Suna’s getting at.

Before he can ask, though, Suna tosses the ball in a high, lazy arc, and Atsumu neatly passes it with his forearms. They’re silent for a while, passing back and forth, overhand to underhand, and it brings a sense of calm amongst the chaos that brews inside Atsumu’s head. He conscientiously controls his breathing, fixing his eyes on only the volleyball, which has become a natural instinct to him over the years.

By the time practice starts, Atsumu has gathered himself just enough to focus on the task in front of him. The fatigue in his body hinders him a little, but once his muscles begin burning and his heart rate picks up, he feels exponentially better.

If Atsumu had a choice, he’d stay in the gym playing volleyball until the SID shitstorm becomes nothing more than a thing of the past. It brings him both comfort and an outlet for all the pent up stress. Even going one day without playing volleyball does more harm than good, and Atsumu knows that it’s the only way he’ll survive the whole thing. 

Practice finishes after a short three hours. Atsumu itches to keep going, but he has a six page essay to write and only one night to do it.

“Looking forward to hearing more about encounters in your direct messages.” Atsumu flips off Suna as he walks by, but Suna simply snickers. The asshole hasn’t even apologized for it yet, insisting that Atsumu waits to see how all of this plays out. Suna has offered to peruse some of the people sliding into his inboxes, but Atsumu doesn’t trust Suna’s judgement about who to interact with and how to interact. He’s already seen Suna’s internet presence. Something about him lends very nicely to becoming the world’s greatest internet troll, and not in a good way.

He sighs as his mind registers that he’s starting to feel hungry. Atsumu pulls out his phone and—pointedly ignoring the influx of notifications from his friends—he texts Osamu, asking if he wants to grab dinner. His will to live might be withering away, but at least he can have some of Osamu’s home cooked meals to lessen the pain.

“Miya.”

Atsumu doesn’t turn at the sound, still looking down at his phone as Osamu texts back,  **stop leeching off me you fucking ass** . “Yeah, Omi-kun? What’s up?” After sending a middle finger emoji, Atsumu pockets his phone and turns his head to see Sakusa with his jacket draped over one arm. A fine sheen of perspiration glistens on his forehead, and he pushes his hair back as he stares at Atsumu with narrowed eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, though, and Atsumu starts to squirm under the scrutiny. Sakusa is the total judgemental type, but it’s not exactly clear if his judgements are negatively or positively weighted. Atsumu has always assumed that any judgement Sakusa passes on him is negative. “Nice serves today,” Atsumu comments, because what the fuck else is he supposed to say with Sakusa staring like that?

“Why did Suna put you in the dating group?” Sakusa asks. He sounds about as genuine as a guy can get with zero inflection in his voice. Atsumu once again questions why he has a crush on this guy. 

“I dunno. We were both drunk.”

“Did you tell him to?”

Atsumu winces. If he could go back and fight his past self, he absolutely would. “Apparently I did? I don’t really remember though. I was busy throwin’ up in the toilet.”

“Why’d you tell him to do that?” They begin walking towards the exit together, which Atsumu has sort of naturally picked up. It started with Atsumu lingering at first every day after practice to annoy the hell out of the most prickly person around. Sakusa was a jerk, he’d reasoned. There was some sort of sadistic joy out of pissing off Sakusa, and even now, Atsumu enjoys riling him up whenever he gets the chance.

Yet—and Atsumu has to figure out how this happened—lingering late after practice to walk together has become a common occurrence. They live in the same complex as all the athletic scholarship students, but it’s never occurred to Atsumu to walk home with his other teammates. It does happen, sometimes, but it’s not the norm.

“I was drunk, Omi Omi.” Even now, the mention of alcohol is enough to make Atsumu’s stomach lurch. “I was prolly just lonely and horny and bored.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Atsumu immediately regrets it, which is also a common occurrence for him. He risks a glance at Sakusa’s face, only to see that he has this intense scrunch both disgust and confusion. They’re walking to the locker room to grab their belongings—Sakusa doesn’t shower in the locker rooms because it’s unhygienic; Atsumu doesn’t so he has an excuse to walk back with Sakusa—and Sakusa merely comments, “I see.”

“Little did I know he was going to embarrass me like that. Fuckin’ asshole. Do you know how humiliatin’ it is to have six different people send you the same Tik Tok featurin’ yer datin’ shitpostin’ profile?” Atsumu shudders at the memory. He never used Tik Tok to start with, though Suna has been pressuring him to take the leap at an opportunity to capitalize off of his sudden viral popularity—or infamy—to become Tik Tok famous.

“No.” Sakusa frowns as he contemplates it. “I don’t.”

Atsumu sighs internally. Suna’s right. Sakusa  _ is _ a weirdo.

He’s usually the one carrying the conversation, Sakusa merely offering subtle nods and mumbled responses when applicable. But today, Atsumu has nothing to say, mostly because he’s having trouble keeping up with his  _ own _ thoughts.

They’re halfway across campus when Sakusa finally breaks the comfortable silence between them. “If it’s that embarrassing, you should tell him to take it down.” 

“Wha—huh?”

“The dating post.” Sakusa’s eyes are on the ground, so Atsumu has no idea how to read him. Actually, even when Sakusa’s looking him dead in the eye, he still has no idea what he’s thinking. “He can just delete it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Suna’s a dick.”

“What do you mean?” Sakusa pauses. “Aside from Suna generally just being a dick.”

“He said I gotta talk to some people who are hittin’ on me.” Suna really means this, and Atsumu knows he does, because he keeps sending him links to suggested pick up lines. All of them are terrible. “He’ll only take it down if I start puttin’ myself out there for once. Somethin’ about bein’ an honorable bachelor, or somethin’ like that.”

Sakusa merely accepts it as fact and nods along. Atsumu neglects to tell him that the reason why Suna’s pushing him so hard is to get him to do something other than pine after the boy next to him. The omission is glaring, but Sakusa, of course, doesn’t notice it. “You shouldn’t be forced to talk to someone you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, well.” Atsumu kicks at the ground, imagining it’s Suna and his stupid smirk. “Suna thinks it’s best for me.”

“Hm.”

Atsumu kind of wants to spontaneously combust. It would be so  _ easy _ , he thinks, just coming out right now and telling Sakusa to his face that he’s trying to move on. But nothing about harboring unrequited feelings is ever easy. It wasn’t easy when Atsumu’s feelings first peeked above surface, and it’s not easy when they pull him back under.

“Good luck with that, then,” Sakusa says, and he lets the topic go. It’s a relief to Atsumu, but a sharp sting hits his chest when he finds that he’s disappointed as well.

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey brat
> 
> i’ve had about seven different people
> 
> come up to me
> 
> asking if i was
> 
> “setter miya”
> 
> it’s not even ten a.m.
> 
> so
> 
> fuck
> 
> you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> FUCK
> 
> i haven’t left my room yet
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you’d better fix this
> 
> i can’t go on living like this
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> thoughts on plastic surgery
> 
> i’ll get a new identity
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> even plastic surgery won’t help you
> 
> you’re too ugly
> 
> to get fixed
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> WE HAVE THE SAME FACE?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> DON’T remind me
> 
> i have to live with it
> 
> every single day

* * *

Monday is an absolute disaster, as expected. Atsumu is the laughingstock of the entire campus, and he’s fully aware of it. The first inklings of things sucking come when Atsumu ambles to the dining hall for breakfast.

“Hey. Miya Atsumu?”

It’s a boy Atsumu has never seen before in his life, with freckles and tousled blonde hair. 

“Sorry. I got somewhere to be.” Atsumu smiles—sort of, it might look more like a grimace—before snatching a muffin and a cup of coffee. He feels strangers chasing his movement with their nosy eyes, and he hears the whispers of people who pass. Some of the whispers are interlaced with snickers that makes Atsumu’s ears feel warm and his stomach to twist. He doesn’t care about being liked—he never really did—but being liked is a whole different matter than becoming a living, breathing, walking, talking meme.

“Do you got somethin’ to say to me?” Atsumu snaps at a couple people who stand behind him in line, who keep on muttering amongst themselves. They both blink, taken aback, and Atsumu huffs in frustration. He pulls out his card to pay and stomps off to his first lecture, already regretting his decision to go to class today.

Atsumu has a hat pulled low over his forehead, and he tries his damn hardest to make himself as invisible as possible. He doesn’t really  _ do _ invisible, so it’s a change. Atsumu tries his best to shrug it off. He pulls out his notebook and clicks his pen, forcing himself to scrap together some semblance of focus. It’s hard to do that when he notices, from the corner of his eye, someone in the row in front of him perusing the photos of him that Suna posted on SID.

This sort of thing is always something Osamu’s been good at. His twin brother knows when to keep quiet and when to speak up, and he knows how to fit perfectly into groups of people with nonchalant ease. Atsumu attributes this partially to Osamu only acting out with his fat mouth every time they’re around each other. 

In all honesty, Osamu’s freakish chameleon abilities are something Atsumu marvels at, because Atsumu would never be able to fit in that well. He supposes that makes him a bit of a narcissist. But that’s okay, because that’s not the kind of person he is. That’s not who he wants to be. Miya Atsumu was a household name in the high school volleyball scene, and he knows one day he’ll be a household name when he makes it to the Olympics. 

But now, with the attention of every student in his lecture hall passing judgement on the slumped-over kid in the back corner of the room, Atsumu wishes, more than ever, that he could go unseen.

* * *

> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> The way my friends are asking about you
> 
> Thinking I live with you
> 
> Not realizing I live with Osamu
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> oh god
> 
> so samu wasn’t just being dramatic
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Oh don’t get me wrong
> 
> Osamu’s always dramatic
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> suna’s being an asshole
> 
> he won’t take down the post until i respond to dms
> 
> saying it’s for my own good
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> You haven’t yet?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> no i don’t want to
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Why not
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> because i’m not interested???
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Wow
> 
> You’re really whipped, huh
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> shut UP
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Well you’d better figure something out soon
> 
> I’ve been hearing Osamu pacing back and forth for about three hours straight and muttering to himself
> 
> Starting to get worried he’ll commit an actual felony

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> don’t commit a felony samu
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> bitch i just might

* * *

> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> Have you guys seen our VBC IG lately
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> I SAW we got like a shit ton of new followers because of SID
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i’m glad my public humiliation gave our stupid volleyball team internet clout
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> So sour
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> fuck off suna
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> my friends keep asking about you
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> Plenty of eligible people for you Tsumu!
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i cannot believe this
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Can you guys take this to private messages
> 
> I’m trying to study
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> You can just mute the conversation Kiyoomi :)
> 
> _ Sakusa Kiyoomi has left the conversation. _
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> HAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Oh word he left
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> SOMEONE’S UPSET
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> he’s gonna be so annoyed in practice tomorrow
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Yeah I wonder why
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> YEAH I WONDER WHY
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> huh
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> Miya you are so f’ing dense
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Just ask him out you ass
> 
> _ Miya Atsumu has left the conversation. _

* * *

Atsumu isn’t sure when he started realizing that his hatred for Sakusa was maybe not hatred after all. He thinks it has something to do with the time they stayed late to practice together, when Atsumu spent the entire time serving and Sakusa spent the entire time receiving. Sakusa’s a phenomenal spiker; anyone can say that with full confidence. But there was something incredibly attractive about Sakusa standing across the net, eyes tracing every small movement of the ball and of Atsumu’s body, with only one focus in mind: how to kill the ball.

He can’t remember how he convinced Sakusa to stay late, but he does remember that he’d spent the entire practice being frustrated that his new serve technique was a total bust. It felt good to get back to serving like normal, even scoring a few aces against Sakusa, who would curse every single time. They do that, sometimes, and Atsumu knows persistent practice has only improved their respective skills.

The biggest problem, though, is how the small circle of affection nestled in his chest has steadily grown throughout the past year. It’s an itch that Atsumu cannot scratch and a cut that Atsumu cannot heal. He’d thought it would’ve faded by now, as most of his crushes do. 

Atsumu had thought wrong.

So he picks up his phone and makes an attempt to move on, just like Suna had said. It’s a foreign concept, since Atsumu rarely texts anyone except for the volleyball team, his brother, and a few of his friends from class. For his credit, he does try. The whole direct messaging people is a lot more terrifying up front, but Atsumu manages to hype himself up by taking a shot of month-old vodka and telling himself that there’s no way he could possibly become an even bigger embarrassment than he already is.

He takes Suna’s suggestions and scrolls through to select people to reply to. He lounges on his bed and chooses people kind of randomly, thinking that none of this really matters, anyway. He’ll talk to some people, realize there are others who are interested in him, maybe go on a few dates, have a few hook ups, and his gross crush on Sakusa will fade away.

The one upside is that he can now gloat to his friends about all the attention he’s getting. It’s a front, for sure, one that Atsumu cowers behind in order to patch up the vulnerability he feels every time he thinks about Sakusa. He has gone from biggest loser to most-desired bachelor, but it does little to assuage the dissatisfaction simmering under his skin. His friends are sick of him talking about it, which is a good thing, because maybe if he convinces them that he’s moved on from his stupid little crush, he’ll start to believe it, too.

But as Atsumu types in a witty response to a cute girl with a pretty smile, he can’t help but think to himself how Sakusa—despite his strange tendencies—is so much more attractive.

* * *

Atsumu doesn’t expect Osamu to roll up to practice. He’s kind of displeased about this, for a number of reasons. One reason is because Osamu stops to chat with Sakusa, which is never a good sign. The second is because now Atsumu feels obligated to stick around longer in order to talk to his brother rather than walking back to the dorms with Sakusa. 

Seeing Osamu talking briefly with Sakusa is jarring. It’s not that Atsumu is particularly protective over either, but Sakusa has a gentle demeanor that comes out when he talks to Osamu. It jumped out when they first met, and it’s sort of insulting that he’s not as nice to Atsumu as he is to Osamu.

“Why’re you so much nicer to my brother than to me, Omi Omi?” Atsumu has asked before.

Without fail, it always earns him a biting and blank stare. “Have you ever heard yourself speak?”

Which is—valid. But also: ouch.

Atsumu puts his hands on his hips and stares his brother down from across the gym. He sees Osamu lift a hand in a small wave and he sees Sakusa leave the gym, a bit disappointed that he doesn’t turn around to say bye to Atsumu. 

“You.”

Osamu’s voice cuts through the relaxed atmosphere. Atsumu has heard this tone a million times, usually when he steals Osamu’s jacket or copies his homework or snatches the last pancake before Osamu has the chance. This is perhaps the first time Atsumu hears Osamu using that ‘ _ fuck you, you little bitch’ _ tone on someone else other than him.

And it’s directed at Suna.

“Miya. What are you doing here?” Suna asks, brow furrowed.

“You need to take down the fuckin’ post in SID, Suna.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. Leave it to Osamu to make a big deal over something like this, like his world is the only one that’s had its orbit shaken, unsteady and uncertain. He ambles over to where Osamu’s stance looks like he’s ready to punch the next person to cross his path, and that person is generally Atsumu. “The hell’s goin’ on here? Samu, you didn’t tell me you were gonna be droppin’ by practice today.”

_ You also didn’t tell me you were gonna talk to Omi-kun _ . Atsumu tries to communicate this telepathically through a mildly annoyed look, but Osamu’s too worked up to notice. 

“Yes I did, you scrub. I texted you earlier.”

“I thought you were askin’ so you could bring me food or somethin’. Otherwise I woulda left by now.” Atsumu would like to add that he could be walking with Sakusa back to their dorms by now, but even he knows how pathetic it sounds. “And what were you doin’ talkin’ to Omi Omi?”

Suna, of course, can’t resist inserting himself in a conversation that he wasn’t asked to be in. “Wouldn’t  _ you _ like to know?” 

“I was just sayin’ hi. Suna Rintarou.” Osamu speaks with unshakeable conviction that makes Atsumu question if his brother is still sane. “I don’t even fuckin’ know you, but you and I are about to have some real beef if you’re sittin’ around twiddlin’ yer thumbs instead of fixin’ the mess  _ you  _ made.”

Atsumu blinks. He wasn’t even aware that Osamu was capable of having beef with anyone else. It’s almost refreshing to know that even Osamu has limited tolerance for bullshit. When he takes a closer look at his brother, he can see a manic look in his eyes that he got when Atsumu accidentally spilled juice on his laptop in high school.

“What are  _ you _ gettin’ so worked up about?” Atsumu asks, because he really doesn’t understand why Osamu would be this pissed. It’s not like his name’s been tarnished. Miya Atsumu is the laughingstock of campus, not Miya Osamu. “It ain’t even yer profile.”

“Tsumu, do I need to fuckin’ remind you that we got the same face? People think I’m you and they keep talkin’ about me and tryin’ to get me to schedule personal dickin’ appointments with them!”

Suna bursts into laughter and Atsumu would, too, if Osamu didn’t look like he was ready to throw his hands around someone’s neck and throttle them until they passed out. Gin’s previous message about Osamu committing a felony is starting to look more and more likely with each passing second.

Meanwhile, Atsumu is starting to get sort of used to hanging his head in shame every time he crosses campus and every time he slumps into his classes. It’s only taken him a couple of days to adjust, so why can’t Osamu do the same? “Are you doin’ alright, Samu?” Atsumu genuinely means it. He doesn’t check up on his brother that often. Usually, he’ll tell Osamu he looks like shit, which isn’t a lie, and it’s his way of asking if he’s okay. But he has a feeling that Osamu might punt him into next week if he says that. “You’re soundin’ a bit unhinged.”

“You need to cut it out,” Osamu snarls. “Take it down and gimme back the peace and quiet in my life. I’m sick of this shit.”

“Stop taking it so seriously.” Atsumu snorts at Suna’s infuriatingly laid-back tone. Suna has a talent for pissing people off with indifferent responses to otherwise emotionally volatile situations. It is, once again, refreshing to be the one not on the receiving end of this phenomenon. Atsumu tunes out Suna’s words and instead focuses on the fact that Osamu’s shirt is inside out. Has he gone this entire day not realizing it?

Huh. Maybe Osamu  _ is _ that upset.

“Can you, for once, back the  _ fuck _ off?” 

“Whoa.” Suna holds his hands up in faux surrender. His eyes flicker quickly over to Atsumu with surprise. “Touchy.”

Osamu takes a deep inhale that Atsumu recognizes as a warning sign that he’s about to explode. Atsumu isn’t really much of a mediator—rather, he’s usually the instigator—so he attempts to imitate Aran, the Inarizaki volleyball team captain, and the only role model Atsumu has in his life for diffusing situations. He places one hand on his shoulder and says, “Hey, Samu, I think you’re gettin’ a teensy bit worked up over this—”

Osamu jerks his shoulder out from under Atsumu’s hand, and Atsumu flinches and steps back. “I’m tired of this, Tsumu. People think I’m a fuckin’ nut job and they keep starin’ at me durin’ class. I can’t even do my laundry in peace.”

Atsumu bites his lip. He will not say anything that belittles Osamu’s sour mood. He will  _ not. _

He doesn’t know how he manages to keep it in. Actually, he’s kind of impressed with himself for it.

“I thought you two were pretty different,” Suna drawls. Atsumu hears a shift in his voice, and he sees the shift come to surface with a wide grin that’s rare to come by for Suna Rintarou. “But turns out you’re sliced from the same DNA.”

Osamu’s nostrils flare. “You’re on thin fuckin’ ice, Suna.”

“That’s funny. Atsumu said the same thing to me twenty minutes ago.”

Yeah, but Atsumu had said that when Suna slacked off in a run up for a spike during a scrimmage match. And Suna had responded with a blank look and a lazy shrug. Suna had  _ not _ responded with fascination shining in his eyes that fix themselves on Osamu. Weird.

“I ain’t anythin’ like Tsumu,” Osamu snaps, and for once Atsumu agrees with him. “Thanks.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Osamu huffs and shoves past both of them, stomping towards the door. Atsumu figures he needs to cool his head for a couple of hours. He’ll have to text him later out of courtesy, and decides that it might be worth reaching out to Osamu’s roommates to make sure he doesn’t accidentally set the apartment on fire.

What interests Atsumu more, though, is how Suna watches as Osamu stalks away. Osamu throws one last angry look over his shoulder, and Suna’s still staring, smirk never wavering from his face. 

“The fuck was that all about?” Atsumu asks. He pockets his phone after sending a warning message to Gin, Akagi, and Kosaku. “I’ve never seen Samu get that pissed at anyone besides me. Since when didja care enough about him to piss him off?”

Suna blinks and snaps out of whatever head-in-the-shitstorm-clouds he’s sunk into. He looks at Atsumu, then back at the door Osamu slammed in a dramatic exit, and shrugs. “Your brother’s cute.”

“Ew.” Atsumu wrinkles his nose. Osamu is the furthest thing from ‘cute.’ Does this mean Suna thinks Atsumu’s cute? “Are you gonna start hittin’ on me, too, Suna?”

“You’re nothing like your brother,” Suna says, almost absentmindedly, and Atsumu wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion. He’s never seen this funny look on Suna’s face, either, a little dazed, a little bewildered, and fully disinterested in paying any mind to Atsumu’s multiple dilemmas.

Before Atsumu can say anything, Suna shrugs again and begins making his way out of the gymnasium, leaving Atsumu to question what the hell just happened.

* * *

> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> ATSUMU
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> what
> 
> _ Akagi Michinari has sent a photo. _
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> damn samu’s really pissed huh
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> This is too fucking good
> 
> I wanna put him in the group but he won’t let me
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i think if you did that he’d literally have an aneurysm
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Tell Suna to watch out lmao Osamu’s been talking about hiring a hitman

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> suna i think my brother is pissed at you
> 
> _ Miya Atsumu has sent a photo. _
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> K-WORD SUNA RINTAROU LMAO
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> honestly it’s valid
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> Geez
> 
> I never knew Osamu-kun could be that scary
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Oh
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> Stop your brother is actually so funny omg

* * *

> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Wait is Osamu actually pissed at me?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i mean
> 
> idk
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Can you ask him
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ugh

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> are you actually mad
> 
> suna wants to know
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> piss off

* * *

> _ Miya Atsumu has sent a photo. _
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Oof
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> eh he’ll get over it
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Wait
> 
> Tell him I didn’t mean it
> 
> When I was laughing at him
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ?????????????????
> 
> 1\. do i look like a messenger hawk to you
> 
> 2\. pretty sure you meant it
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Wait
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> do you know how to say anything besides “wait”
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Please
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> fucking hell
> 
> _ Miya Atsumu has shared a contact. _
> 
> _ Miya Atsumu has shared a location. _
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> tell him yourself
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Oh okay thanks
> 
> I’ll text him later
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> does it look like i care

* * *

Atsumu decides that meeting someone virtually isn’t for him. He’s tried messaging about sixteen different people. For ten of them, he stops responding after three back-and-forth exchanges. For six of them, he forgets to respond completely. There’s a large queue of other people waiting to hear from ‘Setter Miya Atsumu.’ 

It’s hard, he realizes, having to think of something witty to say in order to look cool or desirable. Atsumu is always mindful about his appearance and how people perceive him, but he never thinks so hard that he feels like he isn’t himself. It’s flattering to some degree, but mostly, it’s a reminder that Atsumu has very little control over how people see him.

He’s seated at his desk when he hears a knock on the door.

Atsumu glances at the clock. It’s a little past ten, and he’s been holed away for the past several hours catching up on coursework at a painfully slow pace. It’s another method of blocking out the world, he’s decided. Atsumu hates studying, but at least he doesn’t have the mental capacity to think about anything else when he’s doing it.

He pushes his chair back and heads towards the door, fully expecting Osamu to be on the other side of it—after all, it’s always Osamu who shows up unannounced—but he’s surprised to see a disgruntled Sakusa in a bathrobe, frown on his face, wielding a towel around his shoulders.

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu makes a conscientious effort not to stare at the way Sakusa’s bathrobe falls into a delicate V-shape that exposes the smooth skin of his collarbones. “What can I help you with?”

“Can I use your shower?” Sakusa’s face is pinched. “Mine is broken.”

“How’d it break?”

“I have no idea. It won’t drain. I started the shower and it’s ankle-deep with water and won’t go down.”

“Oh.”

“I called maintenance, but they’re not coming until tomorrow morning.” Sakusa presses his lips into a firm line. It wrecks Atsumu how attractive this is. “Sorry to intrude.”

“Ah. That fuckin’ sucks.”

“It’s so gross,” Sakusa mutters, but he doesn’t elaborate any further—he doesn’t have to. Despite being known for his blank expressions, Sakusa is actually quite expressive when he’s displeased. Atsumu shuffles backwards and gestures for Sakusa to come in, and the door falls shut behind them.

Sakusa wears a pair of rubbery flip flops that smack against the heels of his feet with every step, and Atsumu swallows. “Uh, you can use the shower.”

“Thanks.” Sakusa pauses. He glances around Atsumu’s suite—the scholarship dorms at Inarizaki University are kind of weird, not quite a full apartment, but larger than the bedroom-style dormitories hosting underclassmen. His bedroom, bathroom, and common area line one narrow hallway that Atsumu realizes is very, very tight, especially when Sakusa’s standing there, mere centimeters away. “Oh. I forgot my sham—”

“You can use my stuff. I don’t mind.” For some reason, Atsumu’s face heats up, and he steps out of the way. “I’d just stay away from the tonin’ conditioner. Since yer hair ain’t dyed and all.”

Sakusa nods. His eyes linger on Atsumu’s volleyball posters tacked in the hallway, and he spares a glance at Atsumu’s bedroom as he passes before slipping into the bathroom, door locking shut behind him.

Atsumu’s left dumbfounded. Sakusa has stopped by his suite before, but he’s never come in. There’s never been a reason to. Atsumu hasn’t seen Sakusa’s room, either. It feels strangely intimate.

Atsumu steps back into his room, leaving the door open, and settles himself back into his desk. A few moments later, he hears the creak and whoosh of water being turned on, and he kind of wants to die. He tries to go back to reading his statistics textbook, but ends up reading the same paragraph several times before admitting defeat. There’s no way he’ll be able to focus with the knowledge that Sakusa Kiyoomi is showering in  _ his _ shower.

The thing is, he’s had crushes before. Atsumu falls in love too easily and falls out of love too fast, but he’s never had feelings for someone so thick that it’s both rewarding and devastating when something good happens and it feels like they’re progressing. It’s his greatest flaw, he thinks, and most definitely the source of his downfall.

Atsumu is an impulsive son of a bitch who can’t help but chase after the most appealing thing in the heat of the moment. Atsumu chases after what he wants; he chased after volleyball and continues chasing after it every single day. But he hasn’t chased after Sakusa. 

Atsumu makes a meager attempt to distract himself by browsing more direct message requests, which have slowed with every day that ticks by. None of them catch his attention. After ten minutes of suffering, the water suddenly shuts off, and Atsumu quickly puts his phone in his sweatshirt pocket, turning his attention back to his textbook. Sure, he didn’t get any reading done, but that doesn’t mean Sakusa has to know.

He hears Sakusa before he sees him, the smack of flip flops against the hardwood floor. Atsumu turns right as Sakusa pokes his head through the doorway. His hair is ruffled and wet and in a disastrous array, and his skin looks incredibly soft.

Atsumu grips his knee with one hand, digging his nails into the bony flesh. He forces a charming smile that he hopes doesn’t look like a grimace. “Have a nice shower, Omi-kun?”

“Your water pressure is better than mine,” Sakusa comments. He’s not paying attention to Atsumu, though, and instead sweeps his eyes around the space that Atsumu calls home. His cheeks are the slightest bit flushed, and he absentmindedly ruffles his hair with the towel. 

Atsumu has heard people talk about Sakusa around campus. Of  _ course _ people talk about him—he’s tall, handsome, smart, and ridiculously good at volleyball. If Atsumu weren’t on the same volleyball team as him, he’d probably talk about him, too, drooling after every single article and social media post dedicated to him. Sakusa is the total package, and most people recognize that, save for Sakusa himself.

And as much as Atsumu hates to admit it, he’s fully aware that his feelings for Sakusa run deeper than the average surface-level crush. He’s in deep and over his head, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“You can come in, y’know.” Atsumu finally breaks the silence and clears his throat. Sakusa squints at him before tentatively taking a step into Atsumu’s bedroom. There’s enough space for Atsumu’s bed, a desk, a dresser, and a beanbag chair that Atsumu drunkenly ordered one night.

“What are you doing?” Sakusa asks. He stares down at the book in front of Atsumu.

“Studyin’.”

“I didn’t know you study.”

“Funny.”

“I didn’t.” Sakusa takes a few steps before peering over Atsumu at the array of study materials in front of him. Atsumu holds his breath. He can smell his own soap—pine and sage—on Sakusa’s skin. The inherent intimacy of smelling his own soap on Sakusa’s body makes his brain black out for a moment. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who studies.”

“Um.” Atsumu clears his throat again, but this time it’s to prevent his voice from cracking. “I study all the time.”

“According to Suna’s post, you’re usually shotgunning beers.”

“Am not.” Atsumu twists around in his seat, and he’s immediately thrown off by how  _ close _ Sakusa is. Yeah, sure, his room isn’t that big, but isn’t Sakusa standing a little too close to be considered ‘normal’?

What throws him off more is the faintest of smiles tickling Sakusa’s pink lips as he peers down at Atsumu’s textbook.

Atsumu wants to scream. He wants Sakusa to be looking at  _ him _ like that, not some fucking textbook for an intro-level math course he couldn’t care less about.

“Hope the shower was workin’ okay,” Atsumu says, somehow, even though his head is spinning and he’s trying his damn hardest not to pass out from a pseudo-naked Sakusa Kiyoomi standing in his bedroom close enough that the edges of Sakusa’s bathrobe ruffle Atsumu’s shoulder.

“It was fine.”

“Didja have everythin’ you needed?”

“Yes.” Sakusa nods. His curls are wet and hang in the middle of his forehead before he pushes them back with his towel. Atsumu swallows and finds this action to be incredibly difficult to process. It should be illegal to be this attractive. It should be illegal to be this attractive  _ and _ in Atsumu’s bedroom. “You have a lot of…” Sakusa’s voice falters as he searches for the word. “Things.”

Atsumu suddenly recalls the fact that he hasn’t cleaned his bathroom in three weeks, and he’s slightly mortified. “Sorry about that, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine, Miya.” Sakusa nods slowly. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You’re always free to come over anytime. Uh. To use my shower. Or just if you want to. Um. Y’know. Come over.” Atsumu stumbles through his words, hating how ridiculously uncool he is, cursing the fact that—no matter how long he’s known Sakusa or how many times they interact—he’ll never be able to be a normal fucking person in front of him. 

He expects Sakusa to leave, then, and go back to his suite and turn in for the night.

But Sakusa doesn’t. He does take a step back, which is a relief and also kind of disappointing, and he looks around Atsumu’s bedroom. It is, in some ways, more intimate than taking a shower in Atsumu’s bathroom, because Atsumu doesn’t live in his bathroom. He lives, sleeps, studies, and—on the rare occasion he’s feeling emotional—cries here. Atsumu curses under his breath and suddenly wishes he’d spent the time to reorganize all his knick knacks scattered along his desk and dresser before answering the door.

But Sakusa, strangely enough, doesn’t seem to mind. He points at the large printed photo of Atsumu’s high school volleyball team. In it, Osamu’s beside him, grinning with one arm around Atsumu’s neck, and Atsumu holds up the trophy for the Spring Tournament. “I remember that.”

Atsumu smiles a bit. “Yeah. We crushed yer high school.”

Sakusa wrinkles his nose. “Not by much.”

“Still won, though.”

“Whatever.” Sakusa looks like he wants to say something more, but instead, he purses his lips.

If Atsumu had the courage, he’d ask Sakusa if he was lingering for any particular reason. If Atsumu had the courage, he’d reach out and tug at Sakusa’s wrist until they were knee-to-knee, hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest, eye-to-eye.

But it turns out that, despite all the courage Atsumu displays on the court, he’s a coward everywhere else.

“Have you found anyone yet?” Sakusa asks. “Suna said you were finally talking to people.”

Atsumu snorts. Of course Suna would say that. He has to justify being a pompous asshole somehow. “Omi-kun, the day I find someone, hell will freeze over.”

“Hm.” 

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You sounded like you were gonna.”

Sakusa merely sighs, although Atsumu isn’t sure why, and rotates back towards the exit. “Good luck with studying,” he mumbles. It’s not passive aggressive nor is it particularly genuine, and Atsumu has a hard time placing his finger on what Sakusa means when he says this. 

The door closes behind Sakusa with a thud, and although Atsumu relaxes and is finally able to breathe once again, the emptiness in Atsumu’s single suite roars back at him.

* * *

“So I talked to your brother yesterday.”

Atsumu sighs. Suna has taken to a small fixation on Osamu. It starts with text messages and ends up in actual questions that Suna asks him during practice.  _ How’s Osamu doing? Is Osamu okay? Is Osamu still mad? _ Atsumu isn’t used to people fixating on his twin brother. He doesn’t mind so much, since it’s Suna, but at the same time, he can’t help but wonder what the fuck is going through Suna’s mind.

Atsumu stabs at a piece of lettuce and shoves it in his mouth. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Suna slouches back against the booth. They’re in one of the dining halls by the scholarship dorms grabbing lunch, because Atsumu has no one else to eat with and Suna has nothing better to do. “Thanks for sending me his number, by the way.”

“Trust me,” Atsumu mutters. “It was more for my sake instead of yours.”

“He’s funny.”

“Samu? Funny?” Atsumu can’t remember the last time Osamu said something decent that wasn’t meant to insult Atsumu.

Suna pauses. Today, he’s wearing a t-shirt with a coconut tree on his breast pocket, and his hair sticks up in weird places, like he’s just woken up. Knowing Suna, he probably has, despite the fact that it’s almost one in the afternoon. “He’s cool.”

“What is with you and Samu all of a sudden? You barely paid attention to him for the past year that you’ve known about both of us, and suddenly he’s yer new project?”

The corner of Suna’s mouth quirks upwards. Atsumu almost feels bad for Osamu, because there’s something absolutely terrifying about having some menace like Suna taking a genuine liking to you. “And what if he is?”

“I’ll warn him aboutcha.”

“There’s nothing to warn about.” Suna pushes at the curry on his plate with a plastic spoon. He hasn’t eaten much, and his eyes glaze over as he, once again, gets lost in his own thoughts. “I only have good intentions.”

Atsumu’s eyes narrow. He’s never heard of Suna having a single good intention in his life, at least not for the duration of the time that they’ve known each other. “Wadaya tryna do with my brother, Suna?” Atsumu stabs his chopsticks in Suna’s general direction. “I dunno what you’re thinkin’, but I can see you’re schemin’ somethin’, and it has to do with my brother. So you’d better not be tryna mess with him more than you’ve already messed with him.”

“Really?  _ You  _ of all people? Telling me that?”

Atsumu huffs. “We’re brothers. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Atsumu.”

“What?” Atsumu stabs another piece of lettuce. He’s still out of sorts, still getting used to people paying absurd amounts of attention to him, although there have been less attempted direct interactions nowadays. He estimates that by next week, he’ll be forgotten, and he looks forward to it. 

“You’ll thank me later,” is all Suna replies, and Atsumu wrinkles his nose, not knowing what that means.

All he knows is that he sees Suna’s smirk, and he can’t help but feel like he’s on the outside of an inside joke.

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> hey 
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Yes?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> you free after practice tomorrow?
> 
> i wanna practice some serves
> 
> i think i’m finally getting my third one
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Yeah, I can
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> we can also do saturday instead
> 
> if you’d rather spend the night in
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> I’m free
> 
> See you later

Atsumu is supposed to be messaging potential suitors. He is supposed to be scrolling through his follow requests and accepting people and finding cheeky things to say to strangers. He is not supposed to be asking Sakusa if he wants to practice serve-receives.

Atsumu is supposed to be making an effort to be getting over Sakusa, but he isn’t doing any of that. Instead, he is once again subjecting himself to the pain that one must bear when it comes to having crushes. He shoves his face in his pillow and screams, but it comes out more like a pathetic sigh, and all Atsumu can think about is how lovely Sakusa looked with wet curls, a bathrobe, and a soft smile dancing across his lips.

* * *

Osamu isn’t someone to usually send cryptic text messages. Much like Atsumu, he’s straight to the point. Direct. Unambiguous. It’s both the Miya twins’ greatest strength and their tragic weakness.

But Osamu texts something cryptic on Friday. Atsumu doesn’t have classes on Fridays, only practice—so he spends most of the morning sleeping in and scrolling through the stupid direct messages on his phone.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey bitch
> 
> you owe me
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> wtf for what
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you mean aside from
> 
> making me put up with your jackassery?
> 
> generally speaking
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> yr being weird
> 
> bye
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> tell omi omi i say hi

Atsumu frowns at this. Osamu is most definitely pushing his buttons, trying to get him upset and annoyed and irritated at being hopelessly and irreversibly pathetic over his stupid crush on Sakusa. Osamu is doing this  _ on purpose, _ and it’s working.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> huh
> 
> what the fuck
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> are you hanging out with him
> 
> today
> 
> ?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> none of your fuckin business
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hmmm

A sinking feeling settles itself into Atsumu’s gut. He’s almost at the gym, ready for the last practice of the week, but Osamu’s messages stop him in his tracks.

He knows everything about Osamu, from his taste palette preferences to the comfort shows he watches. Atsumu also knows when Osamu is fucking around with him and trying to rile him up over nothing. This is definitely one of those times. It has to be.

> **Miya Atsmu**
> 
> what did you do
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you owe me
> 
> you dumb fuck
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> SAMU WTF DID YOU DO

Atsumu’s mind begins conjuring up scenario after scenario, but all of them come to the same conclusion: he is going to kill his twin brother.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> SAMU
> 
> ANSWER ME
> 
> I WILL LITERALLY KILL YOU
> 
> HELLO?
> 
> WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO

“Atsumu.”

And just like that, Atsumu is yanked out of the bordering-on-existential crisis that he’s about to have in the hallway in front of the locker rooms. He glances up to find Suna, arms crossed, looking at him like he’s crazy. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What the fuck does this  _ mean? _ ” Atsumu is fully prepared to throw his phone into the toilet and never purchase another one again.

“What?”

“Look.”

Atsumu shoves his phone into Suna’s face, and Suna takes a step back to avoid getting smacked in the nose. He squints at the screen and reads Osamu’s messages, and Atsumu is fully prepared for some sort of reasonable explanation.

Which is dumb, of course, because Suna doesn’t  _ do _ reasonable explanations. Suna’s eyes go back and forth, tracing the virtual conversation, and all he has to offer is a wide smirk and zero fucks. “It probably means you owe your brother a thank you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Atsumu frowns. He’d sent off Osamu’s contact info to get Suna to leave him alone. He hadn’t expected that Suna would actually  _ visit _ him, and Suna hasn’t shared much with him about it other than,  _ ‘Your brother and I are cool now.’ _ The cryptic commentary is kind of unsettling. The only thing worse than having to put up with Suna and Osamu separately is the potential force of them together.

Before Atsumu can reply, Suna shoves his way through the doors, pulling on his sneakers and stretching his shoulders out. He gives one last cheeky smirk over his shoulder at Atsumu, leaving far more questions than answers. Atsumu thinks about terrorizing his brother’s text message inbox more, but Osamu still hasn’t replied to his panicked texts. Atsumu takes a deep breath and enters the gym, mentally gathering himself just enough to begin warm ups.

His resolve shatters the moment Sakusa enters. Atsumu is doing static lunges, and he almost falls over the moment Sakusa’s gaze targets him and lingers far longer than necessary. His brow is furrowed and he scrutinizes Atsumu with the same sort of analytical look he gets during agame.

Sakusa does that a lot. But not for this long. No, never this long.

“Hi, Omi-kun,” Atsumu drawls. What  _ else _ is he supposed to say? There’s no way he can bring up whatever Osamu is alluding to without seeming like a complete loser. “Have a good Friday?”

Sakusa usually nods at this sort of thing. This time, though, he just stares.

Atsumu begins to squirm, and even in the midst of discomfort, he curses out his brother. He has no idea what the fuck Osamu did, but he has a feeling that they’ll have a very interesting conversation later. Atsumu momentarily considers ditching practice early to avoid such confrontation. He has no problem going up to people asking them why they suck at volleyball, but when it comes to people who cause Atsumu’s stomach to lurch, his flight response is triggered.

Sakusa doesn’t say anything, but he does keep frowning at Atsumu, completely unprovoked. At first, Atsumu thinks it’s in his head. They begin practice with the usual passing drills, a few laps around the court, and spiking. Muscle memory takes over while his thoughts wander. It would be easier to focus, he thinks bitterly, if Sakusa didn’t keep dragging his eyes over to Atsumu’s every movement.

_ Fuck. _ Osamu must have said something colossally stupid. Because why else would he poke fun at Atsumu in his texts? Why else would Suna give him that knowing smile?

Atsumu decides this: depending on how the rest of the evening plays out, he may very well have to strangle his brother and live out a dual identity as both Miya twins.

He manages to shake it off as much as he can. By the end of practice, his muscles burn and his mind is exhausted from forcing himself to focus on the task in front of him. He tells himself that it’s Friday, and he can stay up late or go to bed early or do whatever the hell he wants without worrying about ramifications. He’ll skip drinking this week; last weekend was dreadful enough that Atsumu has decided to cut out alcohol for a little while.

“Miya.”

Atsumu wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Are you still free to practice?” he asks. He feels Sakusa’s presence beside him but refuses to look, instead focusing on Hinata attempting to do squats while giving Bokuto a piggyback ride. “‘S okay if you’re busy or if you—”

“I’m free,” Sakusa interrupts. Atsumu props one hand on his hip, volleyball tucked under his arm, and finally turns to look at Sakusa—only to find him staring at Atsumu with squinted eyes and a furrowed brow.

Atsumu frowns. “What?”

Sakusa glances away. “Nothing.”

“Do I got somethin’ on my face?”

“No.”

Atsumu raises his eyebrows. “Then why’re you starin’?”

Sakusa clears his throat and stretches out his freaky flexible wrists. Atsumu has always wanted to reach out and grab one of them, wondering how different they’d feel from his own. “Let’s go to court five,” Sakusa mumbles, not even giving Atsumu time to process as he walks away. Sakusa grabs the cart of Mikasa volleyballs, pulling it behind him to the court all the way across the gymnasium.

Atsumu follows. It’s quieter here, the opposite side of the gym where the ceilings slope a little lower than everywhere else. Atsumu’s shoes squeak along the floor, and he wonders if Sakusa is dragging him here to yell at him or scold him or murder him.

Sakusa leaves the cart of volleyballs on one side and crosses the net. He positions himself deep in the center of the court as Atsumu spins a ball in his palms. He filters out the noise of his own thoughts and focuses instead on the weightiness of the ball in his hands, the distinct rubber smell, and the silent hum of the space surrounding them.

They practice like this often, and it’s one of the few times where Atsumu is as quiet as Sakusa is. When he lifts his eyes, he sees Sakusa’s focus fixated on him once again from across the net. He sees the concentrated shine of his eyes and how Sakusa’s body tenses in anticipation, feet planted firmly on the ground. 

Of all the times Atsumu has looked at him, he thinks he loves seeing this Sakusa the best. It’s the only time where he feels like they truly travel on the same wavelength, fueled by an identical hunger for volleyball.

Atsumu takes four steps back, takes a deep breath, and tosses the ball in the air.

Serve practice has always been like meditation for him. Even when things aren’t going right, practice reaps reward. Atsumu sits comfortably among the best university-level servers in Japan, and he’s earned it.

He slams the ball across the court, and Sakusa reacts to it the moment it leaves his palm. He receives this one, bumping it into a lazy arc, depositing the ball neatly into the setter’s position. “I went easy on ya this time,” Atsumu yells across the court.

Sakusa rolls his eyes, but the smallest smile curls at the edge of his lips. It encourages Atsumu, and he picks up the next ball and repeats the motion.

They don’t speak much, other than the occasional taunt on Atsumu’s end. He begins to think that he was overthinking all of Sakusa’s lingering looks this whole practice, and that there’s nothing he should be worried about. Osamu was holding the match, and Suna was igniting the flame. He’ll have to have a chat with Osamu later about boundaries.

After blazing through the volleyballs in the cart, Atsumu stops to catch his breath, and he flops onto his ass. He has no idea what time it is, but his palm tingles from the unceasing impact of the ball against his skin. He loves that feeling.

Atsumu hears the squeak of gym shoes against the wax floors, and he picks up his head. “Nice receivin’, Omi-kun. Though yer overhand receives could use some work.”

“Shut up.”

“You know it’s true.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes before sitting down next to Atsumu, producing two water bottles and clean towels. Atsumu gladly accepts both, and in between deep breaths, he drinks water, pausing every so often to dab at the sweat collected on his skin.

“Your hybrid’s getting better, too.” Sakusa takes a sip of water and catches a loose drop that falls down the side of his bottle. His skin shines with sweat and his cheeks are pink, and Atsumu is mildly offended by how hot Sakusa looks. “I think you could use more force.”

“Yeah, but when I do that, sometimes it gets all whacky.” Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “Whenever I give the full hundred, it always hits the net or ends up bein’ a homerun.”

Sakusa shrugs. “Practice more.”

Atsumu crosses his legs and nods, replaying his last five serves in his head. He’ll have to write down notes later, but for now, he’s distracted by how ridiculously long Sakusa’s legs are, spread out in an almost split. It’s insane how flexible he is.

“So.”

Atsumu lifts his head again. Sakusa is looking at him again, with the same funny expression from earlier. “What?”

Sakusa opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

“What is it?” Atsumu asks. Sakusa will do that sometimes—he’ll open the door for conversation but stop himself from walking through it. It’s a strange habit. 

“I need to ask you something.”

“Uh.” Atsumu pauses. “Okay.”

Sakusa gets quiet again, and it’s almost painful how uncool and unsmooth this exchange is. He chews on his lip, jaw flexing, and after a full minute of silence—during which Atsumu’s  _ what the fuck _ mood grows—Sakusa finally speaks. “I ran into your brother earlier today.”

Atsumu’s blood runs cold. He  _ knew _ Osamu was always the worse twin.

“Is that so?” Atsumu brushes it off with a dry laugh that he hopes masks the risking panic. “Sorry you had to experience that.”

“We talked.” 

“Mhm.”

Sakusa clears his throat, and Atsumu kind of wants to spike-serve a volleyball into his own face to relieve himself of this conversation. “I dunno what my brother toldja,” Atsumu forces, “but most of the time he’s a good-for-nothin’ asshole who likes to mess around with people.”

“Really?”

Atsumu nods. “Really.” Sakusa keeps looking at him, and Atsumu is starting to grow wary of the fact that they are, once again, incredibly close to one another. He considers inching away to avoid spontaneous combustion, but Atsumu knows that he’s way too smitten to put space between them. It’s strange how sitting next to the person you like is enough to give comfort.

What  _ doesn’t _ give comfort, though, is how Sakusa suddenly leans in, which makes Atsumu jump, and within a split second Sakusa’s face is shoved right in front of his.

“What the—”

“Are you sure?”

“About what?”

“That your brother just messes around with people?”

“What? Why are you all of a sudden so interested in my brother? First Suna, now you?”

Sakusa sticks his face even closer, and Atsumu’s useless brain begins to pick up on all these random details that he definitely doesn’t need to notice. Like how the moles on the right side of Sakusa’s forehead are identically shaped, or how he has a faint freckle on his jaw, which Atsumu has never noticed. Or how he smells like perspiration and deodorant, and his hair tickles Atsumu’s forehead, and his eyelashes are thick and long as he stares at Atsumu through them— _ that’s _ how close they are.

Atsumu gulps. He leans back, just a few millimeters, just enough space to breathe, and the entire time he curses the fact that he doesn’t have a personal Sakusa Kiyoomi manual to tell him what the fuck this guy is doing.

“Hm.”

“Wadaya doin’? Omi-kun, are you feelin’ alri—”

“Are you trying to get over someone?” Sakusa tilts his head, unblinking. “With the dating post?”

Dread begins to creep its way through Atsumu’s body, beginning at his core and spreading along his limbs. He wants to move away, but finds himself immobile from distress. 

He is going to fucking kill his brother.

Atsumu lets out a strangled, “No,” but it sounds pathetic, even to him. His grip tightens on his water bottle, and his breath shortens. 

_ This is it, _ he thinks to himself.  _ This is where it ends. _

“What makes you think that?” Atsumu laughs nervously. His palms are already sweating, and he hates how calm and collected Sakusa is. The lack of reaction—aside from that stupid cute eyebrow scrunch—is kind of alarming.

“Your brother said you were.”

“And you believe him?”

Sakusa’s eyes drift momentarily, and although it’s a relief and a moment Atsumu can gather himself, he’s surprised to find that he also misses it. He doesn’t have to wait too long, though, because Sakusa drags his gaze back to Atsumu with the same locked-in stare as before. “Should I?”

Atsumu wants to lie. He wants to tell Sakusa to forget all about whatever he and Osamu talked about. Burying feelings for your teammate and friend isn’t easy, but it’s a far safer option than having to face the reality. If lying will give him the safe option, then Atsumu will choose it, over and over again.

But Atsumu also knows that if Sakusa wanted him, then Atsumu would choose him, too. Over and over again. 

So as he’s staring back, mouth dry and skin tacky with sweat, on the floor of the gym, Sakusa dissecting him with that stupidly strong stare of his, Atsumu finds himself unable to lie to save his life. “Did he tell you who I’m tryin’ to move on from?”

“Yes.”

“And who did he say?”

Sakusa pauses. His face presses forward again, so Atsumu has no choice but to look at him right back. The tip of his nose pushes against Atsumu’s. Atsumu thinks he stops breathing.

Sakusa says, softer than anything he’s ever said before, “Me.”

Atsumu’s stomach drops.

“I see,” Atsumu blinks rapidly. “And?”

“And what?”

“What are yer thoughts?”

Sakusa’s nose scrunches, and a sting hits Atsumu’s chest. It’s not exactly the sort of response he wants to see. An echo of Sakusa’s  **Ew** comment comes swinging and knocks down what little mental strength Atsumu was clinging to. Part of him wants to laugh with panicked hysteria and the other part wants to cry with hysterical panic. Atsumu cannot believe he’s thinking this to himself, but things were so much easier when his biggest problems included how to respond to strangers on the internet. 

“Omi?”

“You shouldn’t.”

The sinking feeling drags him down further, and Atsumu’s throat tightens. There’s his answer, the one that he’s been foolishly searching for without ever asking. Atsumu glances away, hating how he can feel a familiar twist in his stomach—the same one he gets when he loses a volleyball game. 

“Thank you,” Atsumu says in a strained voice, “for sharing yer thoughts. I’ll take that into consideration.”

“Wait.” Sakusa brings one hand up and grips at Atsumu’s elbow with it as Atsumu begins to pull away, and Atsumu refuses to look him in the eye. “I wasn’t done yet.”

“You said enough, Omi-kun. Just forget Samu ever said anythin’.”

Sakusa’s lips pull down into a tight pout and he has the nerve to look  _ upset _ about all this. What’s even worse is that Atsumu feels bad that Sakusa looks upset, like  _ he’s _ the one that got rejected. “Sorry. I’m not good at this.” 

“It’s fine. I don’t wanna make you—”

“I meant you shouldn’t move on,” Sakusa blurts, and his grip on Atsumu’s elbow tightens. “Not that you shouldn’t like me.”

Atsumu’s head drops to the side so suddenly that it pulls at the muscles in his neck and shoulder. He looks at Sakusa, certain he’s heard wrong. “Huh?”

“I don’t want you to look for other people,” Sakusa says, and a flush creeps across his cheekbones. Neither of them speak, but Atsumu sees Sakusa with a startling amount of clarity. More specifically, he sees the way Sakusa sees him.

“Omi-kun—”

“I like you, Atsumu,” Sakusa continues. His words gradually pick up speed the more he talks: Sakusa Kiyoomi, man of few words,  _ rambling _ . “I thought it was just me, because you never gave any indication otherwise. So when your brother started talking to me about you and the whole dating post and you trying to move on, I had no idea if it was true. You never said anything, so—” Sakusa pauses to catch his breath. “I just assumed you weren’t interested. So I never thought it was worth mentioning.”

Atsumu’s head spins and all he can think is  _ holy fucking shit I owe Samu my life. _

“I don’t know if you’re interested in dating, but—”

“You like me,” Atsumu says.

Sakusa freezes, then nods with the smallest tilt of his chin. Atsumu wants to remember this forever.

“You  _ like _ me.” Atsumu leans into Sakusa the same way Sakusa leaned towards him before, and the heavy weight he’d felt begins to lift. “You actually like me?”

Sakusa’s breath catches the closer Atsumu gets, and Atsumu gets an absolute thrill from it. He sees the bob of Sakusa’s throat when he swallows, tracing the movement with his eyes. When he finally meets Sakusa’s gaze again, he’s greeted with the same hunger they share for volleyball. But maybe, this time, it’s hunger for something more.

“I already said I do.” Sakusa reaches out to Atsumu but stops himself, dropping his hand onto his own knee. 

Atsumu nudges Sakusa’s nose with his, and when he finally speaks, his lips barely brush the surface of Sakusa's mouth. It’s objectively nothing more than a whisper of a kiss, but it makes his heart soar all the same. “Then why dontcha do somethin’ about it, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa squints in his signature fashion. “You’re telling  _ me _ to do something about it? You mean other than posting my dating profile for the whole campus to see?”

“It ain’t often I get to tease you. I’m gonna milk it for what it’s worth. Besides, you gotta get in line behind all the other suitors. I’m in high demand, y’know.”

“High demand?”

“I’m a hot commodity.” The more Atsumu toys with him, the deeper his frown gets, and Atsumu can’t help but press his buttons just a  _ little _ more. He places one hand on top of Sakusa’s.

“Miya.”

“Yes?”

Sakusa finally,  _ finally _ closes the barely-there gap between them with a barely-there kiss, which turns into a definitely-here kiss that Atsumu has trouble comprehending is even real. 

Because part of Atsumu had been expecting Sakusa’s endearing awkwardness to shine through when their mouths meet, but he’s thrown off when Sakusa takes the lead. Previous discomfort doesn’t linger in the way that Sakusa kisses. His hands come to rest on the back of Atsumu’s neck, fingers trailing through his hair, while his tongue slides quickly into Atsumu’s mouth, faster than Atsumu can respond. Atsumu stumbles a bit, trying to regain the mental footing required to kiss him back, and finds it when his fingers comb through Sakusa’s hair. 

It’s when Sakusa’s mouth finally opens fully, jaw coming undone, that Atsumu gets the permission he needed to fucking run with it. 

He’s so focused, in fact, that when he drags Sakusa towards him and collapses onto his back, Sakusa hovering above him, Atsumu temporarily forgets that they’re in the middle of the volleyball court making out and clinging to one another despite the dried sweat that lingers on their skin. The ground is hard and uncomfortable beneath him and his clothes are disgusting from a three-hour practice, but all Atsumu can think about is the weight of Sakusa’s legs and hips and torso against his. Sakusa doesn’t seem to mind, either, and he sighs when Atsumu rests one hand on his hip. 

“Miya,” Sakusa says. Atsumu shoves his curls out of Sakusa’s face and keeps his hand there. He looks lovely, and Atsumu cannot believe that he gets to see him in this light. “We should probably clean up.”

“What?”

Sakusa pointedly nods towards the court, where the array of volleyballs is still scattered about and—for the first time in Atsumu’s life—forgotten. 

“Will you come over tonight?” Atsumu asks, not caring if he sounds forward, not when Sakusa looks like  _ that _ above him. Sakusa pushes up off the ground, and Atsumu immediately misses the feeling, but it’s quickly remedied when Sakusa offers a hand as he stands. Atsumu accepts it and intertwines their fingers when he stands fully upright. He immediately feels lightheaded from the sudden rush of blood away from his brain, and it takes a few blinks for his vision to clear. “I want you to.”

Sakusa stops to look at him, almost like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, before a slow and stunning smile crawls across his face. “I was hoping you’d ask,” Sakusa says, and all Atsumu can think is: 1. he fucking adores this guy, and 2. he needs to thank his brother. 

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> OMI KUN
> 
> TOLD ME HE LIKES ME
> 
> BECAUSE HE SAID HE YOU TALKED TO HIM
> 
> I AM EVEN WILLING TO OVERLOOK THE FACT THAT YOUR FAT MOUTH BETRAYED MY TRUST
> 
> YOU ARE A GOD
> 
> I OWE YOU MY LIFE
> 
> OK GTG NOW TALK SOON SAMU BYE
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> gross
> 
> you guys are a good match
> 
> you’re both stupid

* * *

The title ‘boyfriend’ is new to Atsumu. He never considered any past relationships ‘boyfriend’- or ‘girlfriend’-worthy despite falling heels over heads before. It’s a funny word and every time Atsumu thinks about ‘boyfriend’ and how it now translates to Sakusa Kiyoomi, a warm giggle bubbles up from under his chest.

They’re tucked under blankets on his bed, freshly showered. Atsumu’s lips feel puffy from on-and-off kissing and his hair probably looks like a wreck, but he doesn’t mind. He curls his body around Sakusa and holds him close with one arm, savoring the damp curls that press up against his forehead. It’s tempting to fall asleep just like this.

Sakusa, on the other hand, is tapping away on his phone.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu says. His voice feels thick and warm. “Watcha doin’?”

Sakusa hums. “Nothing.”

“Hm?”

Atsumu tucks his chin over the solid curve of Sakusa’s shoulder, playfully nipping at his ear before squinting down at Sakusa’s phone screen. Sakusa sighs with contentment and he pulls Atsumu’s arm tighter around him.

“What are you doin’?” Atsumu repeats. His eyesight isn’t the best without contacts, but he can barely make out a familiar blue logo. “Wait. Wadaya doin’ on Facebook? I don’t see you usin’ it, like, ever.”

“I’m doing an update post.” Sakusa answers in that matter-of-fact manner of his.

“A what?”

“An update post.”

“An update? For what?” Atsumu frowns. Had he already missed some sort of big news from his boyfriend? Considering they’re only a few hours into a relationship, that probably isn’t a good thing. “Am I missin’ somethin’?”

Sakusa rotates his body and jabs at Atsumu with a bony elbow until Atsumu flips onto his back. He rests his head on Atsumu’s chest and sticks his phone screen in Atsumu’s face. “There.”

Atsumu takes it from him and holds it up so he can read it.

> **Miya Atsumu (20) Inarizaki Setter - No Longer Available**
> 
> Please stop messaging my now-boyfriend,  **Miya Atsumu** , to solicit appointments with his so-called “monster dick”. It’s feeding his ego.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Sakusa Kiyoomi

Atsumu reads it once, then twice. A slow grin spreads across his face as he hands the phone back. “Who woulda thought you’d be the possessive type?”

“Shut up.”

“Were you jealous when you saw people comin’ onto me?”

Sakusa scoffs, and Atsumu slides his arm out from under his head. He props himself on one elbow as he looks down at Sakusa. It’s funny how—despite the drastic shift in their relationship—Sakusa fits perfectly here, almost like he was meant to. “Well, you don’t gotta worry about that anymore, Omi Omi. I’m all yers.” One quick peck on the lips. “Me and all my monster dick.”

“Shut the fuck up.” But Sakusa smiles and looks at Atsumu in a way that makes him feel like the luckiest bastard in the world.

* * *

> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> I want to make this clear
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> ?
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> What?
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> Absolutely NO MESSING AROUND in the locker rooms
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> Okay?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> what
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I think he means
> 
> No inappropriate funny business
> 
> @Sakusa @Atsumu
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> OH
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> LOLLL the way that had to be said
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> I’ve already seen enough
> 
> Do NOT make me quit the volleyball team
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> HAH
> 
> i’ll try my hardest but no guarantees
> 
> my boyfriend too sexy
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> MIYA
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> HAHAHA GOOD FOR YOU TSUMU-SENPAI
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> I will literally get coach to kick you off the team
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> Wait but you guys are cute tho
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> Keep that shit outta practice
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> aran you are sounding very bitter
> 
> @suna i think it’s time
> 
> aran x SID when
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> OH?
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> Do not even fucking THINK about it Suna
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> …I am thinking…
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ...i am listening…
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> ...I am waiting…
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> ...I am hoping...
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> I am studying.
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> HAHAHA SORRY OMI-SAN
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> omi omi is lying he’s next to me in bed
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> See, these are the kind of things I don’t need to hear
> 
> **Bokuto Kotarou**
> 
> AWWWWWWWW
> 
> _ Sakusa Kiyoomi has left the conversation. _
> 
> **Hinata Shoyo**
> 
> Even when he’s happy and in love he’s still cranky
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i am busy ;)
> 
> _ Miya Atsumu has left the conversation. _
> 
> **Ojiro Aran**
> 
> I am so fucking tired of this bullshit

* * *

> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Wait Atsumu before you go
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> what do you want my BOYFRIEND is waiting for me to get off my phone
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Yeah yeah we get it you have a boyfriend
> 
> Is Osamu still mad at me?
> 
> He’s not responding to my messages
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i don’t know and i don’t care
> 
> ask him yourself
> 
> goodbye

* * *

Saturday afternoon practice is better when Atsumu gets to walk into the gym hand-in-hand with Sakusa. He gets a withering look from Aran, but Bokuto and Hinata high five him and their coach glances over with a genuine smile.

“Congrats,” Suna says as they approach. He has his hands tucked into the waistband of his shorts and he looks like he slept only about three hours last night. “Your dating profile actually worked.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me, actually.” Suna smirks. Sakusa rolls his eyes and lets go of Atsumu’s hand to make a beeline for the benches. Suna watches as Sakusa walks away before turning back to Atsumu with a lazy eyebrow raise. He has that know-it-all gleam that Atsumu knows too well. “If it weren’t for my doing, you might still be thirsting after Sakusa with no progress.”

Atsumu scowls, which only makes Suna laugh. Atsumu tosses off his track jacket and puts his hands on his hips, feeling more rested than he’s felt in a week. He’s in such a good mood, in fact, that Suna doesn’t ignite any irritation in him.

“It was your brother, actually,” Suna says. “I may have gotten him to talk to Sakusa about you.”

“Yeah, Samu told me. I dunno if I should be annoyed at both of you for meddlin’ or if I should be thankful.”

“You should be grateful. Nice hickey.”

Atsumu slaps a hand over his neck, and Suna snickers. What an ass.

Suna sobers up quickly, though, lips dropping back down as he clears his throat. “I, uh, wanted to ask you something.”

“If you’re gonna ask me if Samu’s still pissed about whatever went on between you,” Atsumu says, meandering over to the court to begin warm ups, “then I have no idea what to tell you. You can just ask him yerself.”

Suna purses his lips, brows furrowed, and Atsumu pauses. This is the most distressed he’s ever seen Suna, because Suna doesn’t  _ do _ ‘distressed’. Atsumu might not be the best person at reading people, but he can observe how Suna’s thin eyebrows are pulled down low as he chews on his bottom lip. If Atsumu were a half decent person, he might ask what’s wrong, but there’s something fresh about Suna—snarky, sassy Suna—not knowing the words to say.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you, Suna?” Atsumu turns the tables on Suna and gives him his most pompous, dickheaded sneer, and it has the desired effect: Suna scowls.

“Just when I thought love might be making you a halfway decent person.”

“What’s yer excuse, then?” Suna’s sour expression deepens. “You think I haven’t noticed yer recent infatuation with Samu?”

“Shut up.”

“C’mon. We can do the same magic you attempted to instigate with me.”

Suna glares at him and opens his mouth to say more, but Sakusa approaches them. So Suna lets it go, as does Atsumu, but not before Atsumu can shut out the twinkle of amusement that plants itself in his mind. 

Knowing Osamu, he probably doesn’t even realize it. Actually, he definitely doesn’t realize it. The only one stupider than Atsumu when it comes to these sort of things is his twin brother. Osamu has also been mourning his lowkey social status on campus, so he definitely hasn’t even thought twice about why Suna might be bombarding his inbox with messages.

So, at the tail end of practice, Atsumu decides to take matters into his own hands—after all, his brother meddled in his affairs, so Atsumu is just returning the favor.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> hey
> 
> are you still mad at suna about the whole SID thing?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> huh
> 
> no
> 
> why
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> oh interesting
> 
> he said you ignored his messages
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> oh

“Omi-kun.” Atsumu wipes at the sweat on his forehead. “Will you wait till I finish up here? I gotta talk about somethin’ with Suna.”

Sakusa nods as he pulls down the net, and Atsumu takes a moment to appreciate how stunning Sakusa looks, even coated in sweat.

“What do you want from me?” Suna asks flatly. Despite a grueling two-hour practice, he almost looks bored. “Don’t you have your stupid boyfriend to pine after?”

“You’re one to talk.”

Suna’s eyes narrow. “What are you saying?”

“Yer mind’s been plenty occupied, too, I’ll bet.” Atsumu thinks back to all the odd moments, trying to pinpoint where Suna’s indifference towards Osamu broke, or if it’s always been there. He doesn’t think it has. When Osamu came storming into the gym earlier during the week, some sort of switch must have been flipped and Suna’s full attention became pulled towards Osamu. It would be sweet, maybe, if the concept of someone being attracted to his disgusting brother weren’t so disturbing. “Y’know, what with you constantly askin’ me about my brother.”

Suna pauses. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Now you’re just lyin’.”

Suna doesn’t even try to deny it. He moodily stuffs his hands back into the waistband of his shorts, slouches, and he doesn’t have a retort to offer other than the heavy exhales through his nose. 

It’s a shame, Atsumu thinks to himself, that Suna fucked up his chances by pissing off Osamu by making his life a living hell. Unlike Atsumu, Osamu doesn’t get anything great out of it; Atsumu gets Sakusa, but Osamu gets to go back to living his quiet, reserved life as an ordinary university student. 

Well. If Osamu’s open to it, maybe Atsumu can give him this one thing. 

“Pinin’ ain’t a good look, Suna.”

“Shut up.”

“Aren’t you gonna do somethin’ about it? Instead of mopin’ around like some pathetic moron?”

“I  _ tried _ , you asshole. Your brother never responded when I Iast texted him.”

“Samu doesn’t text, like, anyone. Except maybe me and his roommates. But mostly me.”

This does little to comfort Suna. “Whatever. I don’t even care.”

“Liar.”

“Leave me alone, Atsumu. I’m  _ leaving. _ ”

“Aw, c’mon, Sunarin. I’m tryna help you.” Atsumu pulls out his phone again and wiggles it in his fingers. It earns him little more than an accusatory glare, but he ignores it. “You ain’t the only one who can play matchmaker.”

“I do _ not _ need a matchmaker.”

“Clearly you do, since you can’t even get my idiot brother to text you back.”

Suna opens his mouth, but no words come out. Atsumu feels smug as hell. 

“Leave it to me, Sunarin. I know a thing or two about datin’ now.”

Suna shoots him a look that says,  _ you’re fucking kidding, right?  _ Atsumu ignores him. 

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> he thinks you hate him
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> oh
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> do you hate him
> 
> it’s okay if you do
> 
> i hate him too
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> not really
> 
> i mean
> 
> he’s kinda shady
> 
> if you ask me

“You’d better not be saying anything weird.” Suna makes an attempt to steal a look over Atsumu’s shoulder, but Atsumu jerks away. “Atsumu. If you screw up and make things weird between us—”

“You mean like how you went and made  _ everythin’ _ weird for me and Samu?”

“Atsumu.”

Atsumu ignores him.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> you’re talking to someone who’s been subjected to his shade for the past year
> 
> so yeah i know
> 
> but you don’t hate him right?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what no
> 
> i just
> 
> didn’t know how to respond
> 
> to his messages
> 
> so
> 
> i didn’t
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i see

His brother really is an idiot. Most people would at least send a single-word response out of common courtesy. It’s, like, digital age 101. 

“For the record, I don’t think Samu hates you.”

Suna’s shoulders tense, and Atsumu fully expects him to slip into his nonchalant facade once more to protect himself from giving too much away. He doesn’t, though, and instead he drinks in every single word that Atsumu offers him. “Why do you think that?”

“Because he told me?”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you need me to show you the messages myself?”

“Yes.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes before turning over his phone to Suna, who eagerly scrolls through his chat history with Osamu. There’s a momentary surge of annoyance when Atsumu realizes Suna isn’t even this mentally engaged when he’s playing national-level games of volleyball. 

“I’m not shady,” Suna mumbles, and Atsumu has to suppress the urge to break out into a fit of laughter. 

“Suna, you’re the shadiest son of a bitch I know.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been shady to  _ him _ .”

“Do I need to remind you of the fact that you not only forced him into the unwanted spotlight, but you also made fun of him for gettin’ mad about it?”

“But I apologized. I thought we were good.” Suna hands back Atsumu’s phone with a groan. “We talked in person when I was trying to get him to push Sakusa to talk to you, so I thought we’d be cool with each other.” Suna’s face pinches. “I thought we’d—I don’t know. I thought we could move past it and just get to know each other now.”

Atsumu’s nose wrinkles in disgust. He doesn’t know why anyone would want to get to know his brother. To each their own, he supposes. “So? Go fix it. Since you thought you could fix my situation with Omi-kun.” At the mention of his boyfriend, Atsumu glances over to find Sakusa seated on the bench, elbows resting on his knees as he patiently waits to go home. Atsumu needs to wrap this up quickly, but he can tell from Suna’s constipated look that this is gonna take a while.

“Lemme tell you somethin’ about my brother.”

Suna rolls his eyes, but he listens anyway. 

“When he’s mad, the worst thing you can do is make him feel invalid in what he’s feelin’. I only say that from experience, cuz there were times when we’d get in a fight and I’d tell him to get over it only for Samu to not talk to me for, like, a week.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Yeah. Best week of my fuckin’ life.”

Suna snorts. “You’re not exactly giving me solutions here, Atsumu.”

“I’m gettin’ there, geez. I’m just sayin’. If you’re really sorry, you gotta prove it to him. In the same way, if you’re really interested in bein’ friends or whatever with my loser twin brother, you gotta prove it.” Atsumu crosses his arms and huffs with both satisfaction and the same know-it-all energy Suna subjects him to on a daily basis. He really likes to be the one with the upperhand. It’s a rare occurrence that will probably never happen again—at least with Suna—so Atsumu decides to enjoy it while it lasts.

“Prove it?”

“Yeah. So far all you’ve proven is that you’re a weirdo who double texts way too much.”

“Forget it.” Suna glowers with the unparalleled bitterness that comes with harboring a crush. Atsumu knows that feeling well. “Whatever, Atsumu. You’re a dick.”

“I’m tryin’ to be helpful!”

“You’re just making fun of me.”

“Do I need to fuckin’ remind ya that you made fun of me in front of the entire fuckin’ internet?”

“That was different.”

“How is this any different?”

“You’re not even giving me any viable solutions.”

“Suna—” Atsumu grabs at Suna’s elbow as he begins walking away. The enjoyment he’s getting out of this is starting to fade more and more as he realizes how much it’s pissing Suna off. “Dude. Wait a second. I’m bein’ serious. I dunno what my brother thinks of you other than what he sent me, but if you want a chance with him, you gotta show to him that you’re not above puttin’ yer dignity and general jackassery aside to get to know him.”

Suna sighs again, and his arm goes limp in Atsumu’s hand. Atsumu releases him, mind churning with potential ideas. There’s the classic bouquet and chocolates kind of thing that people do on White Day, then there’s the simple and direct face-to-face confession. Or he could write him a handwritten letter, which is loads better than a stupid text message.

Or—and Atsumu’s mouth falls open into a stupid wide smile when the thought crosses his mind—Suna could turn the tables on himself with the same digital curse he bestowed upon both Miya twins.

“I got an idea,” Atsumu says.

Suna stares at him. There’s a flash of bewilderment in his eyes when he realizes that Atsumu is dead serious, and he pauses before speaking.

“I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> you’re welcome
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> huh

* * *

Atsumu has to hijack Suna’s phone to take care of it, much to Suna’s displeasure. But Suna’s initial draft for his dating post is nothing more than,  **Please 🥺** , which—while endearing—is kind of pathetic. So Atsumu puts his brain to work trying to put together a socially acceptable pros and cons list for Suna, attempting to model it after Suna’s format without all the chaotic fuckery.

The longer the draft gets, the more nervous Suna seems, with his hands clenched by his sides and his back uncharacteristically straight. Sakusa, bored and ready to go back to their dorms, comes over, and Atsumu explains what he’s doing.

“Tell him it’s a stupid idea,” Suna says. “Sakusa. Please. He’s the only one you’ll listen to.”

Sakusa hums as he leans against Atsumu, chin tucking itself against Atsumu’s shoulder. “He doesn’t even listen to me.”

“That’s true,” Atsumu points out.

“Please. Sakusa. You’re the only one on this team who’s not an idiot.”

Sakusa chuckles a bit, and Atsumu’s heart melts. It’s really unfair how easy it is for Sakusa to turn him into a puddle from the smallest things. “That’s also true.”

“Gross,” Suna mutters under his breath. Atsumu is sure he says other derogatory comments about the blossoming relationship between them, but he ignores it.

“You’ll thank me later.”

“You’re making me sound so stupid.” Suna snatches the phone from Atsumu’s hand and desperately reads the whole thing over again, as if Atsumu hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes dictating out loud what he’s been writing.

Atsumu stares at him in disbelief. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?  _ I’m _ makin’  _ you _ sound stupid? After all yer shitpostin’ on yer original post?”

Suna scowls, but once again does not have a comeback. He skims the contents of the profile that Atsumu typed, every so often pausing to add or delete some things. Atsumu waits patiently, willing to do so only because Sakusa has both hands resting on his waist and he likes the feeling.

“This is so stupid,” Suna mutters more to himself than anything. His eyes glaze over as he spaces out, probably thinking about all the potential ramifications of following through with it. “I can’t believe you talked me into auctioning myself off. _Publicly._ To _just_ your brother. This is stupid.”

“C’mon, Sunarin. You gotta. My brother will move on faster than the next viral meme to hit campus.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Dontcha wanna get to know my brother?”

Suna gives him a pained expression. Atsumu peers down at his phone screen, pleased to find that the post is complete, and that there are tens of thousands of people in Subtle Inarizaki Dating who don’t know what’s about to hit them. There’s some form of poetic justice here, with Suna looking like he wants to crumble under the unbearable sentence of subjecting himself to public embarrassment, with Atsumu being the one to push him to do it.

“Just press send,” Sakusa says.

Suna’s gaze flickers over to Sakusa and Atsumu, specifically at the gentle touch of Sakusa’s hands against Atsumu’s torso, and he looks down at his phone again. There’s more than one type of yearning, Atsumu realizes. There’s the same kind of yearning he feels for Sakusa, but there’s another one that runs deeper than that. The yearning for being held by the palms of someone who likes you as much as you like them.

And as bored as he pretends to be, Atsumu recognizes that Suna yearns, too.

“It’ll be fine,” Atsumu assures him. 

“It’ll be fine,” Suna repeats.

He takes a deep breath, purses his lips, then clicks  **Post** .

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> dude
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> talk to suna yourself don’t drag me into it
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i didn’t even say anything
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> have fun with suna
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> tsumu
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> don’t be a jerk to him
> 
> but let me know if he’s a jerk to you
> 
> i’ll join him
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> TSUMU

* * *

In the end—and Atsumu isn’t exactly sure how it all started—he passes by Osamu and Suna eating at the dining hall. They’re seated next to each other, and Osamu still looks a little awkward, leaning in while still keeping to himself.

“Oh, wow.” Sakusa gestures towards them. They’re picking up food to-go, and as much as Atsumu would love to annoy his brother just for the hell of it, he’d rather spend time with his boyfriend. Atsumu still can’t get over the title. Boyfriend. It’s only been about twenty-four hours, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it. “That was fast.”

“Faster than I was expectin’.” Atsumu had texted half-assed responses to Osamu, whose panicked messages blew up his phone as he and Sakusa left to shower. The influx of texts suddenly fell into silence, which had left one of two options: 1. Osamu was actually doing something about it, or 2. Osamu’s heart stopped from too much distress. Atsumu is glad that it ends up being the former, though he’s not exactly sure what happened. “Gross.”

“They look good together.”

“Yeah, but we look better.”

“Not everything’s a competition.”

“Course you think that. You ain’t a twin. But everythin’ is a competition when you got a dumb twin brother.” Atsumu sticks his face close to Sakusa’s and murmurs, “I’m the winner, though. Cuz I’m the one that got you.”

Sakusa shoves him away, unable to hide his smile, and Atsumu beams. A few heads turn, undoubtedly because of Sakusa’s post yesterday, staking his claim on the infamous once-eligible bachelor, but Sakusa doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

They’re both aware that they don’t go unnoticed on campus anymore. Sure, Atsumu has a reputation that precedes him, but now Sakusa’s dragged into, it, too—they’re something of an urban legend at Inarizaki now: the first and only couple to have found each other through a stupid dating group.

Their teammates and friends have intermittently sent social media posts referencing them. Gin’s the worst offender, sending over tweet after tweet after Tik Tok after tweet, and Atsumu has half a mind to give Gin a taste of his own medicine. It’s a strange out-of-body experience, almost like Atsumu isn’t even looking at himself when he sees pictures of them posted side-by-side, describing how Inarizaki love must be real. It feels like he’s looking at an entirely different person.

“I just can’t believe it actually worked.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

“Well. Osamu’s uncomfortable being put in the spotlight, right? So it seems kind of opposite of what he would’ve preferred.” Sakusa shrugs. “Also, I gave it a fifty-fifty chance that Osamu would actually be interested in Suna.”

“Only fifty?”

“It’s Suna.” Sakusa laughs a bit, tugging Atsumu along with him to the dining hall. “I’m glad it worked out for him.”

Atsumu bumps his arm into Sakusa’s, pleased to find that Sakusa leans back into the touch before standing upright once again. Atsumu doesn’t know how he went this long without the casual physical touches. He thinks that, maybe, he’s being too greedy, but then again, he really doesn’t care. “I’m still the winner here. Don’t you forget it.”

Sakusa dips his head down. He’s a little taller than Atsumu—something Atsumu takes very personally—so he has to hunch to bring his lips to the outer shell of Atsumu’s ear. “Actually, I think I’m the one that won, Atsumu.”

Atsumu turns and presses his lips against Sakusa’s cheek, quick and casual, and he can’t contain his wide grin. Sure, not everything’s a competition, but now, with Sakusa’s full attention fixed on him, one hand on the small of Atsumu’s back and a soft smile twisting Atsumu’s heart so hard he thinks it might crack, Atsumu swells with the same deep satisfaction and pride that comes with securing a victory.


End file.
